For Love or Country
by AlmightyChrissy
Summary: Set well before SOTL. All Gareth of Naxen the eventual elder ever wanted was to be a swordsman. He didn't ask for Sir Myles to take an interest in him and he certainly didn't ask for that Trebond kid to distract him from his duties. Eventual slash. W
1. One

**Title: For Love or Country  
****Author: AlmightyChrissy  
Disclaimer: All the characters you recognize are the property of Tamora Pierce and are used without permission.  
Note: Candice poked me when I was vulnerable so...thanks ;) Title taken from a movie. Set well before SOTL, when (eventual Duke) Gareth and (eventual King) Roald are still squires. 

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**PART ONE- Returned**

"Your Highness?"  
  
Roald looked up from his slightly splotchy homework. "What is it, Esten?"  
  
The page took a deep breath. "Highness, you...there...." Speechless, he finally pointed to the hallway.  
  
Roald, among his other good qualities, was an eternal optimist, so this exchange didn't much concern him. Esten was prone to over-reaction and really, nothing too awful could be happening. It had been a quiet year, and surely if they were going to war again, he would know. He went to the council meetings. Nothing that bad could happen if it hadn't been debated all about first.  
  
However, Roald was also naïve, and he'd forgotten just how much trouble could be caused by just one person, especially one person with a large mouth, especially especially when that one person was paired with another with a skin slightly thinner than usual.  
  
Cedric stood in the corner of the room, snickering loudly. "I don't believe it. I know I keep saying this, but I really don't believe it."  
  
Roald scanned the room and quickly discovered the cause of the disturbance. "Gareth? To what do we owe the dubious pleasure of your company?"  
  
Gareth scowled black death at his friend and, indeed, at everyone else in the room and a few of the wall hangings. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
Roald glared back, though less effectively. "I don't think I asked what you wanted."  
  
Cedric could no longer keep his silence. "He got RETURNED, Highness!"  
  
For a moment, the thought was so foreign that Roald couldn't process it. Then, he noticed Gareth's red face. "You...oh but..." He gave thought to the effectiveness of ordering the rest of the squires out of the room, but decided that the pleasure of mockery might overrule their sense of hierarchy. Instead, he grabbed Gareth by his sleeve and pulled him into his room. "You're going to explain this."  
  
Gareth sighed. "What's to explain? Lord Martin decided that he no longer wished me to be his squire and I have been, as Cedric so kindly informed you, brought back here."  
  
Roald sat down heavily. "But why? I thought he was going to teach you fencing!"  
  
The other boy shrugged. "Well, he did, and that went very well for awhile."  
  
Roald waited. "And?"  
  
"And..." Gareth stared at point slightly to the left of Roald's head. "And I think he referred to it as irreconcilable differences."  
  
Sometimes, Roald wondered why it was not one of his rights as prince to kill stubborn friends. "What did you do to him?"  
  
Gareth straightened up, offended. "I resent the implication that it was my fault."  
  
"And I resent you treating me like I can't see right through it. Gareth, what happened?"  
  
Gareth crossed the room to sit down next to Roald. "Well, he taught me, and I was good at it. Very good."  
  
"Of course," Roald sighed. He'd secretly been a little glad that Gareth's knightmaster had taken him away, as it saved him from losing all the time in practice.  
  
Gareth smirked. "Well, I kept learning, and then one day I beat him. And then I beat him the next day. And then the day after that."  
  
Roald looked up. "He got rid of you because you beat him?"  
  
Gareth opened his mouth to reply, but a glare from Roald stopped him. He took a deep breath and answered, "Well, there may have been a little taunting involved."  
  
"A little?"  
  
Gareth fidgeted. "Maybe more than a little."  
  
"More than a little?"  
  
Gareth closed his eyes. "Maybe like as in I told him I didn't see what use he was if I could beat him all the time." He opened one eye just enough to see the disapproval on Roald's face. "Don't look at me like that! It's the truth, right? If I was better than him then there really wasn't anything else he could teach me and....no, seriously Roald, stop it."  
  
Roald leaned back until his head hit the wall. It made a satisfying thunk. "Sometimes, you worry me." 


	2. Two

**Fic: For Love or Country  
See part one for notes

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**PART TWO – Civilization and Its Discontents**  
  
Gareth told himself very firmly that this was no occasion for sniffling like a little baby. Yes, his life was now over and he'd spend the next two years doing random errands around the palace and he'd never be a very good knight and his family's high status would then be officially over with, but still. The first step to getting back even a trace of his dignity was to just stay calm.  
  
It was just that he'd wanted this so much, was so proud when the best swordsman in the realm had chosen him to train, and the sword was all he'd ever wanted to learn. But, in typical Gareth fashion, he'd fucked it up.  
  
Two years was something of a record, though. Most people not closely related to Gareth got sick of him much faster than that.  
  
The squires' wing was terribly dull. The only unclaimed squires were the slowest, weakest, or dumbest of the crop, boys who were just barely avoiding being sent home in disgrace. They generally spent their time in small groups formed years ago, and as Gareth had spent most of his time as a page tormenting such boys, he was not invited to join any of the clusters of friends.  
  
Roald tried to spend his free time with Gareth, but being squire to the king (not to mention the heir to the throne) involved a lot of work and responsibility and things that kept the two of them apart. It was only then that Gareth realized that while Roald was a good friend and a loyal friend and an important friend, he was his only friend, and that may not have been a smart plan for forming a social network.  
  
He sat by himself, thinking about starting a fight with Cedric. It would certainly be fun and make him feel better about himself, but he had the feeling that there was a limit to how much trouble he could get in all at once before his father decided to kill him in order to preserve the family honor.  
  
Not, of course, that his father didn't already want to kill him. Lord Martin was of another prosperous house and it just wouldn't do to have conflicts. Gareth had tried to protest that being the better swordsman he'd be able to settle anything that came up, but his father had cuffed him on the head and told him there were better ways to solve conflicts.  
  
Simply put, Gareth was in a state of abject misery, and he decided it was probably a fitting punishment for what he'd done. Having resigned himself to two years of torture, it naturally followed that everything had to change.  
  
There was a rustle and commotion and suddenly Gareth found himself sitting across the table from a rather rustled-looking knight. "Sorry to disturb you," the knight said,  
  
Gareth tried to resist the lure of sarcasm and failed. "Sir, I don't believe there's anything for you to have disturbed."  
  
The knight didn't miss a beat. "Well that's obvious considering you have the look of someone who hasn't done anything of use in a fortnight, but those of us who make some claim to being civilized try to make some attempt at courtesy."  
  
Gareth, sensing a challenge, leaned forward. "Sir, with all due respect, I have been led to believe that squires are generally considered to be completely uncivilized."  
  
The knight got closer to him. "Be that as it may, the way I see it you have two options. You can keep trying to justify your lack of basic manners until I forget why I came down here or you can stop talking and I can possibly get you out of here."  
  
Gareth was loud but he was far from stupid. "Consider me stopped."  
  
The knight smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm Myles of Olau. Can we talk somewhere else?"  
  
Gareth stood and followed Myles out of the room. They went up some stairs, down a few hallways, and finally made it to what Gareth assumed were Myles's rooms. Myles unlocked the door and led Gareth into his study, indicating that he should sit down at the table. "Would you like some juice?"  
  
Gareth shook his head. "No thank you, sir."  
  
Myles poured a cup anyway. "That's unfortunate, because you are going to drink this and not talk."  
  
Gareth obediently took a sip and waited for what he was sure would be a lecture. The silence stretched for long minutes before he finally asked "Sir?"  
  
Myles sighed. "I'm trying to think of how to begin." He squared his shoulders and stood a bit straighter. "Gareth, you're brilliant. Anyone can see that."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Gareth said quietly. They were words he hadn't heard in a long time, as they'd been replaced with terms like 'impossible' and 'a disgrace.' He had long preferred the new terms, but it was still nice to hear, in a way.  
  
Myles continued. "I've spoken to the priests. You were one of the brightest students in your year, but in youth's infinite wisdom, you chose to neglect your scholarly development in favor of swordplay."  
  
Gareth glared. "It was decided by all that I could best serve the realm by learning fencing."  
  
Myles glared back. "It was decided wrong. Quiet, and drink your juice." Gareth did so sullenly as Myles collected his thoughts again. "You have much greater uses to the realm than just your sword."  
  
Gareth decided to risk it again. "Such as?"  
  
Myles smiled. "Well I can't give everything away now, can I?" He crossed his arms. "I'm here to offer you a deal. I want to take you on as my squire and fix the faults in your woeful education."  
  
Gareth considered his options. It was two years of squiredom spent in academia versus two years spent unclaimed. One thought of Cedric made the decision for him. "Sir, I greatly appreciate the honor of studying under you as your squire."  
  
"Good." Myles paused for a moment. "Gareth?"  
  
Gareth tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Yes, sir?"  
  
Myles smirked. "I don't intend to return you. You can drop the false manners."  
  
Gareth smiled back. "Sir, I don't think you want me to do that."  
  
Myles raised an eyebrow. "I think you'll quickly learn that I can deal with anything you have to offer."  
  
Gareth decided then and there to take that statement as a challenge.


	3. Three

Sorry this took so long. The semester has been awful.

This seems like a good time to mention that this fic is a slash fic and it will be getting slashy starting now. If that's not your thing, you should probably go elsewhere.

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**PART THREE- Gossip Makes the World Go 'Round**

"This is stupid."

Myles tapped his fingers on the table, taking out every bit of frustration he could. "If you used all the time you spent whining and applied it to actually learning something, we could be out of here by now."

Gareth leaned back in his chair. "I don't see the point. What's the use of all this," he waved his arm to encompass the pile of scrolls on the table, "stuff? What will learning it help me?"

Myles sighed. "Suppose I told you that you would not understand the true value of your education until you were much older. Would you believe me?"

"No," Gareth said flatly. "Sir, with all due respect...."

"...which you seem to think is very little."

Gareth smirked. "With all due respect, whatever the quantity, when I was with Lord Martin I was learning something with a purpose. I don't see the purpose of what's in these scrolls."

Myles crossed his arms. "It has nothing to do with purpose. You're just bored. Gareth, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but not every lesson is going to be full of excitement. Sometimes you're just going to have to study something you may not necessarily like because it is important that you know it."

"But why is it important?" He looked down at the scroll closest to him. "When is it going to do me any good to know anything about the history of negotiations with Carthak? If we go to war I'm going to fight, not sit around and mutter about trade agreements."

Myles slammed down the scroll he was holding and stood up. "If the material I find is so dull for you, I suggest you find something that you feel will be of use to you in your assuredly short career as a mighty warrior. When you do, please let me know, preferably in a report by tomorrow afternoon. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do."

Gareth watched Myles walk away, then stared at the pile of scrolls in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should be figuring out what he could read, but he was too busy being angry to actually do so. What right did Myles have to reject what he had to say? Why hadn't his thoughts on the matter even been considered?

He was so busy stewing over the matter that he didn't notice the redhead who slid into the seat across from him, scroll in hand. "Well, this is unexpected," said the other boy quietly.

Gareth's head snapped up. "Who...." He squinted. "Alan? Alan of Trebond?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Oh calm down, I didn't really expect you to remember me. I just thought I'd say hello to my new fellow academic."

"I'm not an academic!" Gareth replied immediately, almost automatically. "I just...needed a knightmaster."

Alan snickered. "Because you got returned?"

Gareth narrowed his eyes. "How did you know about that?"

"Everyone knows. You think Cedric could find something out and not spread it to everyone in the palace? Besides, there's no other reason for you to be back unless you totally ruined your way out."

Gareth ignored the reminder of his failure. "So you just stopped by to say hello, then?"

"Not exactly." Alan stared down at the table for a moment, then looked up at Gareth, and now he seemed nervous. "It's just that...well..."

Gareth tried to ignore the clenching in his stomach. "Well, what?"

Alan took a deep breath. "You should be careful."

Now Gareth was really thrown. "Careful about what?"

Alan's eyes darted back and forth. "Things have happened in the library. Things that...."

It was all going way too slow for Gareth. "Things like what?"

Alan squeezed his eyes shut. "It's...it's...." He paused, shaking a bit, then exploded with laughter. "Gods, you brute types are too easy!" He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "You're so gullible!"

Gareth tried to contain the murderous urges rising inside him and stood up. "I'm glad you're having so much fun, but I have work to do, so I'm going to go do it before you see what a brute I really am."

"No, wait!" Alan's hand shot out to grab Gareth's wrist, and Gareth sat back down. "Look, I'm sorry, it was just the look on your face, I couldn't resist."

Gareth just sat there. "Are you done now?"

Alan seemed to consider this for a moment. He giggled a bit longer, then said, "Now I'm done."

"Good," Gareth said, "then will you let me go?"

Alan looked down to where his hand was still locked around Gareth's wrist and almost imperceptibly blushed. "Sorry about that."

Gareth sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Thank you. Can I go back to work now?" The day kept getting better and better.

"You really got Myles mad, didn't you?" Alan didn't sound very sympathetic.

Gareth rubbed his forehead. "I guess so. Yes."

Alan grinned. "He's probably not used to having to deal with brute types like you."

Gareth thought about throwing a scroll at him. It would certainly put the thing to better use. "I'm not a brute. If I were, I wouldn't be in this damn library."

Alan shrugged. "I guess not. As I was saying, you're the first squire he's taken on. Usually he does his studies alone in here." He lowered his voice. "Though, I suppose it had to be someone like you."

Gareth was confused. "What are you talking about?"

Alan glanced over his shoulder. "Myles's squire. If he wanted to find a squire to help him, he had to pick someone like you, someone who could never be suspected."

"Suspected of what?" Gareth asked, not much expecting a sensible answer.

"Of Being An Academic." There was something about the way Alan said it that gave the words capital letters. "You know what I mean. If he'd picked one of the other smart boys, there would have been gossip about things of an...improper nature." He smirked. "I guess they figure if he tried anything on you, you'd beat him off with your mighty sword." He snickered; Gareth could only assume it was at his own private joke. "But really, I should let you get to your work. It would be very embarrassing to be returned by two knights, wouldn't it?"

With that he was gone, and Gareth realized Alan had left his scroll behind. He called out, but received no answer, though he was sure Alan must have heard. Out of idle curiosity, he opened the scroll and found a text on battle strategy. By the time he got two lines into it, he was engrossed.

Roald stopped by to see him just before dinner and grabbed Gareth's wrist to get his attention. Though he thought nothing of it, Roald noticed that Gareth seemed to jump at the touch much more than seemed normal.

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All the cool kids do their feedback responses here, so I will too.  
**razzberrycat-** Glad you like it! See,look,more!  
**Robinwyn-** Why thank you, I hope it keeps you interested.  
**k4writer02**- I'm very glad you like the freindship as it's my favorite thing to write. I'd always seen Myles as only a bit older...I imagine him as a fairly young knight in this fic.  
**Drama Queens Rule**-Sorry the update wasn't soon but I'll try to be better from now on.  
**Rosie**- I love you too! I really think Duke G was a menace to society back in his day. I origianlly saw Myles as younger as well, but in my research, I found a lot of lines that indicated to me that Myles doesn't really take Gareth too seriously, and I went from there. So glad you like it!  
**Lea**- gives you bucket Thank you so so much :) 


	4. Four

PART FOUR

"This is stupid," Gareth whined, shaking his hand. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be taking notes about. I'm just writing things down, and my hand hurts, and this is stupid."

Alan looked over at him. "Your hand hurts because you have sword calluses, not quill calluses. As for the notes, I supposed you can't help being empty-headed."

Sometimes, Gareth could just kill him. "Okay, fine, you tell me what I'm supposed to be taking notes on. You're so godsdamn smart, you figure it out."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Please." He sighed. "Alright. Give me the scroll." Gareth slid it down the table. "Let me see. Oswyn's thesis here seems to be that Carthaki empire's success was due to the actions of the ruler in 202 H.E. What you want to do is take note of how he supports that. Pretend you're arguing with him. What is he saying? How does he back it up? Do you think he's right?"

"How am I supposed to know? I wasn't there. I've never been to Carthak. It all happened hundreds of years ago. How can I say what's right or wrong?"

"Goddess," Alan moaned. "Are you this dense all the time? Do you just bring it out to plague me?"

Gareth looked askance at him. "Hey, wait. You said I was empty-headed a few minutes back, but now I'm dense. How can I be both? Isn't that a violation of some rule of physics?"

Alan nearly exploded. "This is what I mean! You act like you don't have a thought in your brain that isn't about swords, and then you come up with something like that! You clearly aren't actually that stupid, so why do you seem like it most of the time?"

Gareth pulled his scroll back. "I'm sorry to have caused you so much distress. In the future, I'll try to be stupid all the time, and maybe I'll become so very stupid that when I kill you, I'll be excused for not knowing any better. Now, I'll just go back to my notes, and you can go back to being a prig." He picked up his quill, winced slightly at the renewed pressure on his sore fingers, and bowed his head back down towards the paper.

Alan sighed. "Look. I can't stand watching the mentally impaired suffer. Give me your hand." Gareth offered it hesitantly, and Alan pulled a small roll of bandage out of his satchel. He wrapped it around Gareth's fingers, focusing on the tip of his index finger and top knuckle of his middle finger. "There. That will help keep down the bruising and blistering."

Gareth pulled his hand back slowly. "Thank you."

"Anything to stop your complaining." But Alan smiled at him, almost shyly.

The bandaging made Gareth's fingers hurt less, but did nothing to improve the quality of the contents of his notes. Eventually, he trailed off into doodling-- bowls of stew, hunks of bread-- he was hungry. Why hadn't the dinner bell rung yet? He let his mind wander. Maybe it would have been better to hold his tongue and stay with Lord Martin. He could be doing something useful now, rather than this. Roald would be proud of him. Of course, Roald wouldn't even know about it, because he'd be in Corus and Gareth'd be at Meron, all the way across Tortall, and that was quite far. Perhaps he could include his triumph over his temper in a letter, but he'd always been too tired to write letters and besides, wasn't it a little weird? You wrote letters to a sweetheart, or maybe to a younger brother who needed a stern reminder that if he was going to terrorize their new stepmother, he should at least be more discreet about it. You didn't write to your male friends, unless you were weird.

"Oh, that's sweet," came Alan's voice from just about Gareth's right shoulder. "If knighthood doesn't work out, you could become a court artist."

Gareth looked down at his bit of parchment. There on the side was a detailed, if quite amateur, sketch of Roald. Gareth felt his face go hot, and was really, seriously, for real going to hit Alan when he heard Myles come in with a cheerful "Find something interesting?"

Alan smirked, raised his eyebrows, and went back to his chair. "I certainly did. What about you, Gareth?" It was all there in his voice, everything he suspected, everything he was trying to imply.

Gareth's hands clenched into fists in his lap. "I don't know. It's all nonsense to me."

Myles frowned. 'What do you mean? Oswyn's prose is very clear. It's not hard to understand at all."

"It's not that I don't understand what he's saying, it's that I don't know why I'm reading it."

"I told you," Myles said. "You're supposed to be analyzing his argument as to the importance of the emperor's heritage."

"But I don't know how," Gareth said. "I don't know what that even means, or why you want me to learn about it. Is this what you do every day? Just-- read these thing so you can spit out facts at parties? Am I going to be tested on Skanran politics, or when the war in Sarain started? Am I going to be writing an essay on the history of jewlerymaking in the Copper Isles? If you told me what I was going to be doing I would know what I'm supposed to get out of these damn scrolls, but you don't and so I...I...I just sit here and feel stupid." He shoved his chair back. "If this is what I'm going to be doing all the time, you should get a new squire, because I can't do it. I'm not smart enough."

With that, he walked out of the room. He considered trying to persuade the kitchen to feed him early, but found he no longer had an appetite. Instead, he headed outside and practiced sword drills well into the night, and if any moisture trailed down his face, surely it was only sweat.


	5. Five

PART FIVE

Gareth made it almost a full day. He crept back into the palace long after Myles had gone to bed. He woke up early the next morning and went back out to the practice yards, where he worked hard and alone. No one dared come near him.

In the end, it was that hiding that undid him. When Myles knocked on the door connecting their rooms, it wasn't like Gareth could pretend not to be in. Everyone knew he was holed up in there.

When Gareth opened the door, Myles was standing there, holding a tray of food. "If you starve, I get in trouble," he said, pushing past Gareth to set down the tray.

Gareth stood in shock for a moment before sitting down at the table. "Thank you, sir."

Myles shook it off. "Like I said, it's for my benefit as well. Now, come on. Eat."

For the duration of dinner, they ate in silence. Gareth barely managed to keep from fidgeting. What was going on? How long could they keep from speaking? Did Myles just mean to ignore the whole mess?

It was almost, almost too much to bear by the time Myles set down his glass and said, "Do you mind telling me what all of that was about?"

Gareth hung his head. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Look at me." Startled by the softness in Myles' voice, Gareth brought his gaze up to meet his knightmaster's. "I'm not angry. I'm not looking for you to be sorry. I just want to know why you said it."

Gareth sighed. "Because I'm an idiot."

"Stop." And now, now there was some anger there. "You aren't. You're far too quick to anger, but you aren't stupid." He paused. "Do you really, honestly think you can't do the things I ask you to?"

"I..." Gareth thought for a moment. "I can't, not if you don't tell me why I'm doing them."

"You really don't know?"

Now, Gareth was irritated. Why all this guessing? Why never just a straight answer? "How can I know what you never told me?" He shoved his char back, stood. "Why me? Why, of all the squires, did you pick me for this?" He died a little inside at the ache he could hear in his voice. "Why do you bother?"

Myles folded his hand on the table in front of him, all calm and poise. "Because you have potential. Because your mind will do great things once you learn to use it."

Gareth let out a frustrated sigh. "But why does that even matter to you? Are you just that bored that you needed a project to work on?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Myles spoke, his voice low. "Haven't you thought at all about the future, what you will be doing?"

"Protecting the realm, I guess, same as anyone else." Gareth shrugged.

Myles shook his head. "No. Not the same as anyone else. Gareth, I'm not sure you realize this, but your best friend is the heir to the throne, and the king is not in the best of health."

Gareth scowled. "I know both of those things very well."

Myles continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Roald will be king soon, and you will be his best friend, and that will put you in a very important position in the realm, one that you need to be prepared for."

Gareth rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, very important position. Chief toastmaster and life of the party, right? What other responsibilities am I going to have as his friend?"

"You are a very stupid boy, did you know that?" Myles said conversationally. "How do you think advisors and councils get decided? Who is Roald going to trust? Some old men who will pat his head and remind him that they knew him when he was a babe in diapers? I don't think that would be the wisest choice."

Gareth straightened. "That isn't why I'm his friend!"

"I know," Myles said soothingly. "I didn't say that. But because you are his friend, and because you have the potential to be good at it and because I am going to make you very very good at it, you are going to end up with an important position. I want you to be ready for it."

The table took on sudden interest for Gareth. Gods, was he going to make everyone angry? Would he have anyone left by the time he was through? "I'm sorry," he finally muttered.

He heard Myles get up from his chair across the table and sit down next to him. "Is there…something wrong?" he asked, and the hesitancy in his voice reminded Gareth that there really weren't all that many years between the two of them. Gareth opened his mouth to say that everything was fine, but the aforementioned everything, Roald's absence and his feelings for Alan and Myles' disapproval, it was all too much and he found himself nodding instead. "Do you want to talk about it?"

To this, Gareth could safely shake his head, because he didn't have words for the jumble inside of him. "Thank you, though," he said, and counted it a victory that he kept his voice from breaking.

"That's fine," Myles said, his voice impossibly gentle. "You know where I am if you need me." Then he was silent, just sitting there, waiting for Gareth to pull himself together, raise his head, meet Myles' eyes. When it finally happened. Myles smiled. "Now. If you want to understand where we can go, you need to truly understand where we have been."

Gareth took a deep breath, steeling himself for the lecture, but a new voice called from inside his head that this all had a purpose now, that it was for Roald. The voice had a point. He settled himself down and began to listen.


	6. Six

PART SIX

Ordinarily, Gareth was the sort that liked to rush head long into things. He wasn't much for plans, or progress in neat little steps, or patience. However, cooler heads had prevailed, and he had been persuaded to start small. So, rather than making up an agenda for Roald's first five years of rule, he was instead studying the memoirs of former Prime Ministers, King's Champions, and other prominent advisors.

It was not easy work, and mostly the reading alternated between dry and self congratulatory, but occasionally he found a gem of advice or a mistake to avoid. He was also starting to develop a talent for detecting when the writers were boasting of legitimate

accomplishments and when they were, at best, padding the truth.

He started to develop a routine. Mornings he'd work on physical training--combat, riding, finding new ways to knock Roald down when the prince was able to join them. Afternoons were research and conversations with Myles. All awkwardness seemed to melt away from Myles when he was discussing history. He challenged Gareth's opinions, which was really irritating at first, until Gareth learned how to fight back, and then it was, if not as exhilarating as swordplay, at least better than archery. Myles would grin every time Gareth scored a conversational point, and usually go off on a tear about some

related point. History was clearly his passion.

Speaking of passion.

The first time after his argument with Myles that Gareth had gone back to the library, Alan had been there. Gareth had glared solid daggers for five minutes straight until Alan

decided to relocate himself. After that, Gareth had had the library to himself. It took three weeks of solitude for Gareth to even entertain the notion of forgiving him. Alan had joked about things which should not be brought up at all, let alone in jest. At the same time, a part of Gareth's mind that he would have preferred to ignore was curious, even eager. It had been shut up in him for so long, and the chance to be open to even one person...but he couldn't. No.

It was in the middle of one of these mental battles that Alan made his reappearance. He made no attempt at stealth, dropping an armload of scrolls onto the table and announcing, ''I'm not sorry." He paused, as if waiting for Gareth to take the bait, but was met with silence. Thus, he went on. "You can throw all the little temper tantrums you want, overreact as much as you like, but I'm not going to scourge myself about it."

Gareth wanted very badly to use some stinging retort, but he forced himself to practice diplomacy, if only to prove to himself that he was indeed capable of learning. "You can do as you 1ike, then, but leave me out of it. I'm not going to deal with the consequences of your lack of discretion."

Alan rolled his eyes. "You brutes and your discretion. So paranoid! I'm careful when it counts. But in the library, with just the two of us? I don't see any harm in calling you on your mad crush on His Highness."

"Say it again and I'll kill you." Gareth's voice was flat. He was holding on to composure by his fingernails.

Alan smirked. "I notice that's not a denial."

It was too much. Without making a conscious decision to do it, Gareth stood and slammed Alan against the wall, pinning him there. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed. "You don't know the first thing about it, so shut the fuck up."

And then, completely unexpectedly, Alan kissed him.

He didn't freak out. He couldn't, really, because it felt so natural. Usually, he dealt with his rage by fighting with a sword. This, this kissing, pressing Alan against the wall and smashing their mouths together, this worked too. It felt the same.

It was Alan who finally broke. "I wasn't expecting that." He sounded out of breath.

Gareth forced the panic down. "What were you expecting, then?" He kept his mind firmly on the moment. He would not start to think. If he let himself think, he'd lose it.

Alan shrugged. "I don't know. I figured you'd get angry and I'd have something new to mock you for."

"Is that what this was? Mockery?" Something went jagged in his heart. It was too much, the argument with Myles, the teasing, this getting and losing something he could never admit to wanting.

There was something hard in Alan's face.. "Does that make it easier for you to deal with it?" Gareth found he could not answer, and a wicked glint sparked in Alan's eyes. "Or not. Is that why I'm still up against this shelf?"

"Could be." He kept it like a swordfight. Give nothing, show nothing unless you're ready for the kill.

Anal smirked. "Well, if it is, we need to do it somewhere other than here. So, here's what's going to happen. You are going to let go of me, and I am going to my room. You will wait here for about fifteen minutes, and then, if you want to, you can come join me. If not, I hope you know that if you tell anyone about this, I am a very good liar and I will make you look much, much worse."

"I wouldn't...." But Alan pushed past him too quickly, and the protest died on Gareth's lips.

Alone again, and with far too much to think about. He couldn't really go, right? His father would kill him. He'd be disgraced, disowned. Roald would never want to speak to him again, and even if he did want to, he'd never be allowed to associate with a pervert. Every shred of logic, sense, nobility, self-preservation he had knew that he couldn't go to Alan's room.

He would live his whole life this way. Constantly hiding, staying back, burying the things he wanted. Restraining himself. Getting opportunities and running away.

The truth was, he really hadn't expected this. Not with Alan, not ever. He knew there were men and women who did these things, who stepped outside of society to live how they wanted, and he even suspected Alan would, by preference, follow that same path. But him? He had expected to simply avoid it, to shut it away, get married, father children. He didn't go near those places where people like that congregated. It wasn't that he'd expected to resist temptation; he'd just expected to avoid it entirely.

So maybe...just this once. So he'd know what he was missing. And then he'd put it away. Maybe it would be like a blister, and he could break it and it would go away. Even if it didn't, at least he'd know. At least he wouldn't have to wonder anymore, late at night or distracted in wrestling matches and ponds.

And so, after fifteen minutes carefully counted, Gareth stood, put his scroll away, and walked to Alan's room. It was a shorter distance than he'd hoped or expected, and once he got there, he found himself standing outside, working up the courage to knock, or the good sense to flee.

While he was still there, debating with himself, Alan swung the door open. "Stop being an idiot and get in here. You're going to start attracting attention."

Gareth stepped inside hesitantly. "Sorry."

Alan closed the door behind him, eying him skeptically. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know. I don't spread rumors."

"I want to." Gareth's reply was almost too quick, too blunt.

"But you're scared." It wasn't a question. "You don't have to be. We're just going to have some fun."

Gareth took a deep breath. "Are you being nice to me?" A moment, and he was starting to get back in control of himself. "If I'd known that was all it took, I would've kissed you sooner."

Alan grinned. "Big talk for someone who was trembling in the hallway five minutes ago."

"I'm a quick learner." Gareth took a step forward, than another.

"Oh?" And there was the maddening quirk of Alan's eyebrow, and he knew he needed to stop whatever smart-ass remark was next, and so he kissed him.

It was nicer this time, without the element of shock and fear, and with much less banging of teeth. It was harder, but less angry, and when Alan moaned into his mouth, Gareth decided he could maybe do this forever.

When they finally pulled apart, Alan grinned at him. "Point to Naxen. You _do_ learn fast."

"Told you." Gareth stuck his tongue out, and Alan leapt back on him.

This time, hands moved lower, and Gareth felt like giggling, it was just so unexpectedly good. Why was this taboo? Why didn't people do this all the time?

"You can call me Roald, if you want," Alan whispered slyly, and Gareth bit his neck, and Alan made almost a squeal, and then the time for teasing was well past.


	7. Seven

PART SEVEN

Gareth had always heard that romance was distracting, that women would take you away from those things you were supposed to be doing. This had always been part of his excuses for not getting entangled with local women. He had things to do, swords to swing. He didn't have time for women.

Which is why he found it both peculiar and unsurprising when the thing with Alan actually improved his focus. It was like a veil had been lifted; rather than puzzling over whatever scroll he'd been assigned, he found himself writing down questions and noting when they weren't answered, comparing one historian's writing to another's, forming theories and testing them out. Something was finally _happening_. He wasn't always sure what that something was, but he figured it had to be important.

And then, after all the studying and analyzing, was Alan. It couldn't be every day, because that would get suspicious, but it was still most days, where Alan would return to his room and Gareth would show up later, always from a different direction, trying to keep everything secretive. Once he was there....well.

The thing of it was, it wasn't like they liked each other any more than they used to. Alan still glared at Gareth like he thought he was an idiot, and Gareth still thought Alan was an insufferable prick. But in Alan's room, on the bed or against the wall, they could put that away, could replace it with sly grins and the press of flesh against flesh, mouth on mouth (or body), and raw pleasure.

All in all, Gareth found his life going better than it had in years. He felt happy, accomplished, satisfied. The nagging voices in the back of his head began to quiet. The world even felt a little bit brighter.

So, when he finally realized what Myles had been trying to tell him with the scrolls, it was very, very difficult to believe that something so utterly _disruptive_ could exist at the same time as all the contentment in his life.

He stepped into Myles' room and whispered "Is it safe to talk here?"

Myles raised his eyebrows. "It is, yes. What's on your mind?"

Gareth sat down, spreading the map he was holding over the table. "I...well. I know you've been wanting me to read some of those scrolls on judicial procedures, but something caught my interest and I got distracted, so I've been looking at these figures on troop movement." He swallowed, hard. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

Myles stared down at the map. "This is what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"It was." Gareth's stomach churned nervously. "Am I wrong? Did I interpret it correctly?"

"No, no." Myles shook his head. "I don't think you're wrong. It's just not what I was expecting you to come here for." He smiled ruefully. "Sometimes I thought I was just imagining all of this. It's actually quite reassuring to see that you saw it too."

"So it's true then?" He knew he'd had it right, but it still hurt to hear his suspicions confirmed. "How long do you think we have? Our soldiers are stretched so thin, but doesn't it take a long time to prepare for war? Is there a chance we could....I don't know. Find more soldiers? Do something?"

Myles sighed. "No. I don't think that will help. They'll just get more men to stand against us. His Majesty has made many, many enemies, and I'm not sure there are enough fighters in all of Tortall to protect us if they all attack at once."

"What can we do, then? Don't other people see this? Why aren't people making changes?"

There was a long, long pause. Myles smiles with very little humor. "Think about it for a second. You can figure it out."

It took Gareth considerably longer than a second, but he got there eventually. "Because His Majesty won't let them?"

Myles shrugged. "I suspect it's closer to all of his advisors being too scared of him to make suggestions, but it amounts to the same thing."

Gareth slumped in his chair. "Are we doomed, then?"

"That depends." Myles folded his hands on the table. "The king is an old man. He could die at any time. When that happens, Roald will take over. Now, you're his closest friend. What is Roald best at?"

"Certainly not battle planning," Gareth snorted.

Myles cuffed him gently upside his head. "You're too focused on the martial aspect of the situation. _Think_, Gareth. What does Roald do well? What has he been doing since childhood? How did he keep you from getting killed when you were a smartmouth page?"

The copper finally dropped. "He negotiates," Gareth said slowly. "He calms people down, makes them stop fighting, makes them less angry."

"Now you've got it." Myles grinned. "So, if we can't fight them...."

"...we make them stop wanting to fight us," Gareth finished.

"Exactly." Myles met Gareth's eyes. "But you have to understand, you _have_ to, that Roald will only be able to do that if his advisors don't talk him out of it. He's going to have a lot of voices trying to make him into the second coming of his father, and still more trying to establish their own influence. He's going to need someone there with him, someone he knows he can trust, someone who will act for the good of Tortall."

Gareth held Myles' gaze steadily. "You mean me."

Myles clapped him on the shoulder. "See? You can be taught."


	8. Eight

PART EIGHT

Gareth had been fairly dedicated to his studies since learning that Myles' purpose was to help Roald, but with the newest revelation he threw himself even deeper into the scrolls. Suddenly, it seemed very important that he cultivate his diplomacy, a skill set he had long ago rejected. Now he was studying all sorts of different tactics for getting along with people, bringing them to his side in a debate, convincing them to sacrifice their own best interests for what he presented as the greater good.

He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but it was sort of fun. He still would prefer to solve his problems with his sword than with his mind, but he was becoming more willing to at least try the non-violent resolution. There was, in negotiation, the sort of thrust and parry he loved, and he wanted to learn to be as difficult to predict with his words as he was with his sword. He wanted to be able to protect Roald and Tortall every way he possibly could.

Alan thought it was cute. "You're like a scrappy dog, pulling and pulling at the cloth until it finally gets tired of fighting and tears."

Gareth glared at him. "You're just jealous. You wish you had my oratorical skills."

"No, I really don't. They leave much to be desired." He accompanied this with a smirk.

"If that's a challenge, I think you're issuing it in the wrong place." Gareth looked back and forth to make sure no one else had entered the library. "If you would like me to prove you wrong, though, I'd be happy to, later."

Alan rolled his eyes. "I don't think that will be necessary. Go back to your scroll and stop bothering me."

Gareth did. This was the general path of their conversations on the topic. It was always insults and innuendo until they either got bored with each other or built up enough tension to need a certain kind of release.

Sometimes, though, it went differently. Sometimes they'd find some topic on which they disagreed and which they both cared about, and they'd argue back and forth, and Gareth would catch a happy kind of glint in Alan's eyes, as if he was doing what he lived for. And sometimes, one would say something that cut the other too deeply, and there would be angry stomping until the next day, by which time the offended party would have gotten over it.

They could have continued this way for a very long while, but one night Alan lay there, Gareth slumped next to him, both of them sweaty and breathing hard, and he whispered "It really is such a shame."

Gareth propped himself up on one elbow. "What? What is?"

"You have potential, really. You could be something, do something important, if you weren't so intent on being a brute."

"What do you mean by that?" Gareth sat up. "I can't be both strong and intelligent?"

Alan waved his hand dismissively. "No, no. That's not what I mean. What I mean is...you could actually do something. You could be a historian, or a philosopher, or some other kind of scholar, but you're so tied to knighthood and chivalry that you'll probably get yourself killed in some stupid battle before you can accomplish much of anything."

"That's what it means to be a knight." Gareth's voice was dangerously low. "You know that. You're here just like the rest of us."

"Yes, but you _believe_ it," Alan said. "You really think that's your purpose in life, to serve the king and die trying. To kill people, break things, until someone stronger comes along."

Gareth stood, adjusting his breeches. "It is my purpose. It's always been my purpose."

Alan sneered. "Has it really? Do you really care about the monarchy that much? Or is it Roald that you really want to serve?" Gareth was silent. "Oh, Gareth." Alan's voice dripped with mock pity. "He won't ever love you. You know that, right? It doesn't matter how hard you work to be the very best knight in all of Tortall, he still won't look at you like that. What do you think he would do if he knew about what you and I do? Do you think he'd still be your friend? He'll be king one day. He can't be seen with someone as disgusting as we are."

"I'm not...disgusting." Gareth spat out the last word. It left a sour taste in his mouth. Was that what he really was?

"Please. You're just like I am. The only difference between us is that you're good with a sword and I'm not."

"No." Gareth had to work to keep his voice strong. "No. You're...you have no honor. You're speaking treason against your king. I am not like you." He picked his shirt up off the floor and stepped towards the door, almost automatically. His mind felt stuck somewhere five minutes ago, before any of this started.

Alan barked out a laugh. "Fine, go!" he called after Gareth. "See how many men will take the risk with you when you're one of the king's men. See how much time you'll spend alone."

Gareth closed the door behind him. He could no longer hear Alan's voice in the hallway, but it continued to echo through his head.


	9. Nine

PART NINE

Alan did not come to apologize. It wasn't that Gareth had expected an apology, or that he would have accepted any offered, but that was all beside the point. He hadn't come to apologize.

So when he heard a knock at the door, Gareth couldn't really blame himself for the surge of hope. He felt foolish for it, but he felt it nonetheless. It was only Myles, though. Gareth slunk back into his chair.

Myles sat down across from him. "I heard rumors you were rampaging down the corridors, bowling down pages and making maids cry."

"I did no such thing." But Gareth's voice was hollow, even to his own ears.

Myles shrugged. "I figured as much, but it's pretty clear that you're in a foul mood. Anything I should know about?"

Gareth shook his head. "No. It's stupid."

"You say that so much." Myles leaned forward. "I know that the code of chivalry tells you to take everything without complaint, but that's how people burn out, and we lose good knights that way."

"I'm fine," Gareth snapped. "I'm not going to burn out. There's nothing wrong with me."

Myles considered him for a few moments. "Gareth," he said slowly, "I know about Alan."

It was like the bottom dropped out of his world. Gareth felt actually dizzy for a moment. "How?" he finally croaked.

"I don't think anyone else knows," Myles reassured him. "It's only that I know Alan, and I saw the way you acted with him, and I worked it out. Is that why you're so upset? Something with Alan and you?"

Gareth shrugged helplessly. "There isn't any Alan and me anymore."

"Oh." Myles sighed. "I suppose you don't want to hear that it's for the best."

"No." Gareth stared down at the table. "No, I really, really don't."

Myles folded his hands in front of him. "I know that it can be...difficult...when a relationship ends."

Gareth's head snapped up. "We didn't have a _relationship._ We didn't even like each other. We just..." He had to swallow down the tightening in his throat. "This is the rest of my life, isn't it? Every time I want to be with someone, I'll be risking my whole life. If I want to help Roald, I'll have to stay away, stay alone..."

Myles reached over to rest a hand on one of Gareth's. "You don't have to. All those things I said, they're your choice. You don't have to give up everything to serve him. You can do whatever you want with your life."

For one wild moment, Gareth considered this, thought about what it would be like to be free of expectations and responsibilities. Almost immediately, the truth of it hit him. "But if I gave up Roald, what would my life be worth."

"That isn't...you're not...." In the middle of his stuttering, Myles stopped, and Gareth knew that Myles had figured it out. "Oh." He closed his eyes. "I don't know what to tell you. That's a very difficult situation you're in. I'm sorry."

Gareth buried his face in his hands. "It isn't fair."

"I know," Myles said gently, "but life very rarely is."

"That doesn't help."

Myles was spared from having to come up with a reply by a knock on the door. He rose to answer it. The next thing Gareth knew, there was a chair scraping across the floor and Roald's voice, terribly close, asking "Gareth? I'd heard you were causing a mess in the halls. Are you alright?"

Gareth couldn't look up at him. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

"You don't seem fine. Is it something I can help you with?"

He almost choked. "No. There's...there's nothing...." because of course, Roald could solve the problem right then and there, but he wouldn't, couldn't, and Gareth would die before asking it of him.

Hesitantly, a bit at a time, Roald's arms slipped around him, and Gareth was powerless to resist the embrace. He let his friend hold him, allowed the tears burning behind his eyes to fall. "Are you sure?" Roald asks. "You know I would do anything for you."

"I know," Gareth choked out. "I know. I just.....I can't."

Roald shifted. "Do....should I go?"

Gareth shook his head against Roald's shoulder. "No. Please." He wondered, in some small heartbroken part of his mind, if this would be all be easier if Roald wasn't such a godsdamned nice person.

"Alright." Roald tightened the embrace. "I'm here. As long as you need me."

No, Gareth decided. No, it definitely wouldn't.


	10. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

"Your Grace." Myles bowed his head as he handed Gareth a goblet of wine. "I have to congratulate you. Your sister is the highlight of the evening."

Gareth grinned. "She has caused quite a stir, hasn't she?"

Myles shrugged. "Well, it makes sense. She's from a good family, her brother is Prime Minister. She would make a good marriage partner for anyone here. And yet...."

"And yet what?" Gareth eyed him suspiciously. "I hope you aren't about to cast aspersions on my sister's honor."

"No, no," Myles hastily assured him. "It's just that His Majesty hasn't taken his eyes off her all night."

"Really?" Gareth glanced over to where Lianne was giggling with a few companions from the convent. Sure enough, when he found Roald, the king's eyes were on his sister.

Myles motioned Gareth towards a quieter area. "How do you feel about it, the king's interest in Lianne?"

Gareth thought for a moment. "It would be a good match. If Roald married from outside Tortall, he'd alienate all the countries the new queen wasn't from. Lianne is friendly and she'll win over potentially hostile diplomats."

"And how do you feel about it personally?"

"It's..." Gareth looked away. "I know they weren't hurt each other. I know they are both honorable, both kind. I think they'll like each other." He finally made himself meet Myles' eyes. "It had to be someone. I'm glad it's her."

Myles clapped him on the shoulder. "You may be one of the most honestly chivalrous individuals I've ever met."

What Gareth wanted to say was that sometimes he wished he wasn't, sometimes he wanted to be petty and selfish. But it wasn't really true, because he'd rather serve Roald and be lonely than have a companion but miss out on all the good he was doing, all the time with his king and closest friend. So, all he said was "That's because you spend your time with drunkards and louts."

Myles grinned, and then abruptly bowed. Gareth glanced over to see Roald approaching. "Your Majesty," he said in greeting.

Roald shifted nervously. "Gareth, I....I come to request your permission to ask the Lady Lianne to dance."

Gareth laughed. "You're the king, Majesty. You don't have to ask permission for anything."

"Yes, I know, but...it's your _sister_."

"And I wish you much joy of her. Go. Ask. She's dying to meet you." He watched Roald walk off, watched him approach Lianne, watched her blush and take his hand.

And somehow, seeing the light in Roald's eyes when he spun her around, it was actually alright.


End file.
